


Season 14 Coda Fics

by Andromache_42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Coda, Episode: s14e10 Nihilism, Episode: s14e12 Prophet and Loss, Episode: s14e13 Lebanon, Episode: s14e14 Ouroboros, Episode: s14e16 Don't Go In the Woods, Episode: s14e18 Absence, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kissing, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Season/Series 14 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-10-24 08:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17701073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andromache_42/pseuds/Andromache_42
Summary: Codas for Season 14 Episodes.Cross-posted from my tumblr.Rating and tags subject to change.Marked complete for the time being. I may come back to write one more before s15 premieres!





	1. 14x10 Coda

Dean tightens his grip on the notebook Billie left with him, hands slicking with sweat. She disappears with a blink, as though she was never there, but the notebook stays behind, clutched in Dean’s clammy hands. Shocked, at first, he just stares into the space she vacated.

_No way. No fucking way._

Angrily, he blinks the tears away before they can fall, slams the notebook shut and searches for a place to hide it, somewhere Sammy, or Jack, or Cas—

He manages to stuff it between his mattress and box springs before panic sets in, then sucks in breaths against the vice grip tightening in his chest. He scrubs over his face with shaking hands, chasing away the last of the moisture in his eyes, trying to _just breathe_.

But for some reason, it’s easier; out of sight, out of mind. He stumbles to the sink, splashes water on his face, then leans against it like he had been before Billie came.

Like she was never there.

He takes deep breaths, trying to slow down his heart, to quiet his mind.

“You’re just you,” he whispers, gathering his strength.

“Dean?”

Dean closes his eyes. “Yeah?” he grunts, expecting some kind of lecture about his stupid choices and their consequences. He’s surprised when Cas doesn’t reply, braces himself as he waits for the hammer to fall.

Cas’s arms are steady and firm around his waist as Cas presses up behind him, holding him close. The tension in Dean’s body falls away and he nearly collapses into the angel’s arms. Cas doesn’t say anything for a long time, and for once, Dean allows himself to be held.

“I lost you again,” Cas murmurs at last into the nape of Dean’s neck. The tickle of his lips makes Dean shiver.

“Sorry,” Dean chokes. Cas’s mouth is warm and soft against Dean’s throat, trailing feather-light kisses up toward his ear. Dean’s eyelids flutter, but he forces them closed.

“I can tell when you’re you, you know.”

Dean freezes, white-knuckling Cas’s sleeves at the wrists. “You—what do you mean?”

Cas doesn’t try to break Dean’s grip, so instead he nuzzles at his jaw in an attempt to get Dean to look at him. Dean goes, but doesn’t open his eyes. Cas sighs and places a soft kiss on Dean’s cheek. It’s so tender Dean almost whimpers.

“I can sense Michael’s grace.” Cas’s voice is barely above a whisper as he speaks the words into Dean’s skin, pressing those feathery kisses along Dean’s jaw and across his cheekbone. Dean clutches at Cas’s wrists, his heart racing again for a very different reason. “I can sense when he’s there, when he’s being subdued, and when he leaves.”

Dean wants to ask, he really does, but he’s too much of a coward. Instead, he lets out an embarrassing sound he’ll deny ever making as Cas kisses the corner of his lip and the eye he can reach with Dean’s back still pressed against him. He knows Cas wants to kiss him for real, to erase the awful things that came out of Dean’s mouth while that asshat had control. But Dean wants to stay like this, with Cas wrapped around him, between him and the rest of the world.

Between him and cosmic consequences.

Even if he’d never admit that out loud.

“Do you want to know what I see, Dean?”

And damn Cas, too perceptive for his own good. Dean swallows hard, then gives the barest of nods.

“You have to look at me, Dean.”

The notebook is still there, shoved under his mattress like cheap porn.

“Dean.”

Dean’s eyes fly open to meet Cas’s blue ones. Cas smiles. He’s doing that a lot more now.

“I see _you_.”

_You’re you. You’re just you._

When Cas kisses him, Dean knows it’s for the last time. Even if Cas doesn’t.


	2. 14x12 Coda

_Coward_.

The unspoken word rattles around in Castiel’s head during the entire drive back to the bunker.

Sam and Dean are quiet, and the relatively short distance between Donatello’s nursing home and the boys’ home base stretches on in the silence.

_Coward_.

Castiel watches out of the window as Dean navigates down the long, underground drive and into the bunker’s garage. Sam and Dean climb out of the car, doors screeching, and Castiel follows just a moment behind.

The bunker is as empty and dark as Castiel left it, all of its usual inhabitants off on cases or asleep at this early morning hour. Castiel had made sure Jack was still tucked in tightly before he had raced to meet Sam and Dean. Now, he itches to go check again, to make sure Jack is safe, but he finds himself following Dean instead.

“I’m gonna turn in,” Dean calls behind him. It’s a dismissal, which Castiel usually heeds. Not tonight.

“Dean,” Castiel demands. Dean doesn’t slow, moving down the hallway toward his room. Castiel barely notices Sam peeling off and heading into his own room.

_Coward_ echoes inside his head with each step as he strides after Dean, pressing a hand on the door to keep it open as Dean throws his duffel down on the bed.

“Seriously, Cas, I’m beat, so—”

“ _Coward_.”

Dean unzips his duffel, the noise sharp through the hissing in Castiel’s ears. “’Night, Cas,” he says.

“ _Coward_ ,” Castiel repeats, echoes. Dean throws his dirty socks toward the hamper, misses, moves to collect them. Castiel tries to calm his own breathing. “ _Coward_.”

“Yeah, Cas, I heard you the first time.”

“Then _why_ ,” Cas seethes, stepping into the room, “ _why_ couldn’t you answer me?”

Dean’s dresser drawers squeak as he puts away clean t-shirts and pulls out pajamas. “Didn’t realize it was a question.”

“You _ass_.” The door is loud as he slams it and Dean’s shoulders are tense as Castiel is suddenly close, so close, like they had been earlier when Dean had looked him in the eye—why won’t he look him in the eye now? “You are an _ass_ , Dean.”

“Thought I was a coward.”

Castiel has a handful of Dean’s shirt in his fist and he’s _making_ Dean look at him and he isn’t sure that he gave his hand permission to reach out and grab him. He tries to keep his voice low, but he can’t help the furious hiss that floods out of him. “Were you ever going to tell me? Were you ever going to ‘man up’ and tell me your idiotic plan? Or was I just going to have to hear it from Sam when you were trapped at the bottom of the ocean? Forever? What kind of behavior is that if not cowardice?”

Dean licks his lips, then, like he does so often when they’re this close, but he doesn’t answer.

“How could you not give me the _courtesy_ of telling me your plan? Do I mean so little to you that you couldn’t even stoop to telling me good-bye?! That I had to _seek you out_ to force you to face me—”

It’s a split second when Castiel realizes what’s going to happen before it does, but then Dean’s hands are in Castiel’s hair and their lips are pressed together and it’s desperate and hard and uncoordinated and _oh god Dean is kissing him_ . . .

Castiel’s back slams against the door, punching a surprised breath out of him, and Dean breaks away just far enough to gasp out, “ _Cas_ ,” before Castiel drags him back in by the fist still twisted in the front of his shirt. They’re a little more coordinated now, but Castiel is still so _desperate_. He can’t get close enough; his skin is thrumming, everything has narrowed to the feel of Dean’s spit-slick lips sliding over his own.

He doesn’t have enough experience to really know, but he’s pretty sure it’s a terrible kiss. The lead weight in his stomach makes sure of that. But Dean is hot and insistent, pulling back to trail his mouth along Castiel’s jaw, nosing at the junction beneath his ear.

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel moans, knees buckling, before Dean surges up to capture his lips again.

Dean’s desperate, too, if his hands splayed strong against the small of Castiel’s back are anything to go by.

“Cas . . .” Dean pants against Castiel’s lips, interrupted by Castiel firmly pressing their lips back together. “Cas, I . . . I’m sorry, I—”

Castiel shivers, clutching hard at Dean. “I love you,” he murmurs, dragging a moan from Dean. Dean doesn’t say it back, never has, but his kisses turn twice as frantic.

He isn’t sure how long they kiss against the door, but then they’re kissing on the bed, and then they’re simply holding each other until Dean finally, exhausted, falls asleep.

Castiel kisses Dean’s forehead as he sleeps. In the morning, they will find a better way.

They have to.


	3. 14x13 Coda

They’re laying together in the dark, skin to skin, Dean tracing lazy patterns on the arm Cas has thrown across his chest while Cas’s breath puffs softly against his neck. Sweat cools on his skin as Dean stares up at the ceiling of his bedroom, body aching in the best way.

“Did I really remember nothing?”

Cas’s voice is so quiet, Dean would have missed it if he hadn’t been so close to Dean’s ear. His heart races, but he maintains the slow drag of his finger over Cas’s skin.

“Nope,” he says, like it doesn’t hurt. Cas is quiet for so long Dean thinks he might have, impossibly, fallen asleep. Then:

“It is strange to think that any version of me would not know you.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “He was kinda a douchebag, not gonna lie.”

Cas pulls away to lean up on an elbow and look at Dean’s face. “He was a soldier. Born in fire and battle. He was me when we first met.”

Dean’s a little blown away by the sentiment, then his brain does a record scratch. “Dude, you have _got_ to stop watching so much _Doctor Who_.” Cas smiles and places a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“I’m glad you appreciate my references.”

Cas starts to kiss him, Dean’s libido revving like Baby’s engine on an open country road. He’s not so young anymore, but that doesn’t mean that his body can’t give a valiant attempt at starting Round Two when Cas sinks his hands into Dean’s hair and kisses him like this.

 _I have a family_.

His dad meant something completely different: a wife and kids and a white picket fence. The secret bunker and Nephilim kid and angel . . . _whatever_ couldn’t have been what his dad had hoped for.

But Cas kisses him with power and fury and Dean melts.

“It hurt,” he murmurs into the dark.

“I can imagine,” Cas whispers. “Regaining your father only to lose him again.”

“No, it—it wasn’t—nevermind.”

Dean moves to attack Cas’s torso with wet, sucking kisses but Cas stops him with a hand to his chest. “What is it, Dean?”

“Nothing,” Dean replies, leaning up to taste the soft skin of Cas’s pulse point. He sucks a mark there, one that will fade quickly because of Cas’s grace, laving it with his tongue and Cas groans.

“Dean—” Cas sighs as Dean turns him over, presses him into the bed and straddles him. Cas grips Dean’s hips hard with both hands. “ _Dean_. . .”

“Yeah, baby?”

Cas moves his hands up and presses firmly against Dean’s chest, moving him back far enough to make eye contact in the dim. He raises an eyebrow in question and waits. Dean stares at him for a long moment, then slumps against Cas’s hands.

“Just glad everything’s back to normal,” he says. Cas reaches up to cup Dean’s cheek, caressing his cheekbone with his thumb. Dean bites back a whimper.

“Me, too.”

Dean surges in to devour Cas’s mouth, grinding his hips against Cas’s until Cas is a moaning, panting mess. Once they’d finally gotten their heads out of their asses, this part was actually easy. Casual touches as they pass in the Bunker’s hallways, reassuring pats and a quick hand squeeze on a hunt when they’re going to split up for a while, a language they learned almost instantly once that barrier fell.

Now, though, Dean’s feeling kind of raw, rib cage busted open. The minute Cas had walked down those stairs earlier, Dean had run to pull him into a crushing hug. Sam had cleared his throat, and he and Mary made themselves scarce as Dean pulled back awkwardly, patting Cas’s arm. Cas had kissed him, then, before seeing the remains of the Winchester Family Dinner.

Explaining John’s appearance had been easy, too. But the words were halting as he’d described the encounter they’d had in the diner with a creature who had looked like Cas, but was instead _Castiel, Angel of the Lord_.

Dad hadn’t wanted them to hunt. He’d wanted them to have a wife, and kids, and a white picket fence.

“Dean.”

Dean’s eyes swim back into focus, looking down through the low light to where Cas is look up at him, gaze soft.

Not _Castiel, Angel of the Lord_ but _Cas_.

Something shifts deep inside Dean’s chest, and he smiles softly back.

“Hey,” Dean replies. Cas squints and tilts his head, sending a pang through Dean’s heart. “I’m here.” Cas smiles, small and secret. Dean can’t believe he didn’t realize how easily those come now.

 _I have a family_.

He does. Chuck help him, he does. Cas moves with him like they were made for it, and after, when they’re laying together in the dark again, Dean asks, “Are you happy, Cas?”

For some reason, Cas tenses beside him. “What do you mean?”

“C’mon, dude, it’s a yes or no question. Are you happy?”

“I . . .” The darkness is thick around them. “I’m content, yes,” Cas whispers, like the darkness can hear him.

“You wouldn’t, uh . . . You’ve been through a lot of shit, y’know?”

Cas tightens his grip on Dean’s torso. “Are you asking if I would do it again?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“In a heartbeat.”

Dean strokes Cas’s arm where it lays across his chest. _I have a family_. He knows who he is and it’s something that’s born of fire and battle and blood and isn’t something he’d change, not even for an instant. And isn’t that fucking _something_?

“Me, too.”


	4. 14x14 Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel, Rowena, 1100 words, implied Destiel

It’s eerily quiet in the Bunker. After Castiel had assured that Michael wasn’t hiding somewhere within the power Jack consumed, it had been a long afternoon of searching out the bodies of Michael’s victims. No one in the Bunker had been spared. Of the twenty or so hunters that circulated through the hub, fifteen were burnt-out shells that Castiel, Dean, Sam, and Jack had burned on a pyre deep in the woods.

When they were done, Sam and Dean had been too exhausted to do much other than take a long shower before crashing in bed. Rowena had disappeared to parts unknown during the clean-up, and Jack had retreated to his room.

Castiel walks the empty halls of the silent Bunker at night so often now that he’s lost track. He lets his soldier’s nature take over as he patrols, his human charges asleep in their rooms. Sometimes he spends time in the library, working on research or indulging in the outdated mundane reading material left behind by the Men of Letters (he’s grown particularly fond of old _Saturday Evening Post_ magazines). Tonight, he pauses in front of Dean’s door, listening intently to the steady, deep breathing that means Dean has fallen into a heavy sleep.

It’s been months since he’s heard the sound.

Part of him wants to push open the door, spend the rest of the night sitting and watching over Dean while he sleeps soundly for the first time since he first said _yes_. The panic from earlier threatens to rise inside him when he thinks about how close he’d been to . . . How easily Dean might not have . . .

Nights like this are the hardest, when his nerves are rubbed raw and the weight of his own existence presses down on him like the world on Atlas’s shoulders.

Noise down the hallway startles Castiel from his vigil. A quick check reveals Sam and Jack still in their rooms, but someone is moving in the kitchen. Cautiously, he makes his way down the hall, sliding his blade into his palm. He’s just outside the door when he hears the tinkling crash of china breaking, followed by a whispered, “ _Bollocks_.”

Castiel sighs, replacing his blade. “Rowena,” he says, stepping into the kitchen. She jumps at the sound of his voice, crouched on the floor and sweeping up what looks like the remains of a teacup. The saucer is sitting on the counter above her.

“Dean should really invest in that bell,” she mutters, scooping broken bits into her hands.

“Here, let me help—”

“It’s all right, it was my own fault. It seems the Michael ordeal rattled me a bit more than I thought.” She chuckles mirthlessly before tossing the remains of the cup into the trash. She reaches for another cup, pouring suddenly steaming tea from a kettle on the counter. “Fancy a cuppa?”

“No, thank you,” Castiel says. Rowena shrugs, shuffling over to the kitchen table. She’s wearing pajamas made of shiny floral material and soft-looking slippers on her feet. When she sits down, she wraps a blanket around her shoulders. After a moment, she looks up at him from her teacup.

“Well, you might as well sit down.” Castiel hesitates for a moment, then slides into the seat across from her. She regards him over the rim of her cup, her gaze unnerving. Castiel lets his own gaze slide around the room to avoid looking at her.

“I was under the impression that you had left earlier,” he says, finally. Rowena quirks an eyebrow.

“Yes, well, to be honest I thought that it was best I not remain while you all tended to the manual labor, but then I realized . . .” She sighs deeply. “I realized that I wasn’t as well as I thought. I can’t . . . he was . . .”

“I know,” Castiel replies. Rowena looks skeptical. “I saw the damage Michael left behind in Dean. Even being his host for a short time can be . . . discomfiting.”

“Understatement,” Rowena murmurs. She sips delicately at her tea. “What are you doing here? Don’t guardian angels keep watch over their charges?”

“Proximity doesn’t matter, I can hear them from here.” Rowena shakes her head. “What?”

“You are still such a strange little thing. A domesticated angel.”

Castiel bristles at that, but Rowena’s face is open, lips tilted in a small, wry smile. “And you are a domesticated witch,” he replies. She chuckles at that.

“Oh, dearie, I’m not so sure about that.” She takes another long, smooth drink. “Though, they have a knack for it, don’t they? Those Winchesters. Taming things that shouldn’t be tamed. They certainly wear on you.”

“They are tenacious.”

The silence stretches out between them again. Sam is sleeping lightly, though far more quietly than he has in a while. Dean is sound asleep, snores likely muffled by his pillow. Jack’s room has gone quiet; Castiel is still worried, but he simply seems to be content to read through the night.

Jack hadn’t been willing to listen to Castiel again after they’d cleared the bodies. Dean had let Jack heal him, but only just. It wasn’t until Castiel faltered when Dean looked to him first that he allowed Jack to press fingers to his forehead and heal the gash (and the moderate concussion). With archangel grace, Jack was even more solidly immortal now than he had been this afternoon. He wouldn’t let Rowena examine him, either, insisting that he felt completely normal and that they shouldn’t worry.

But Castiel worries.

“How do you manage it?”

“Manage what, darling?”

“The years.” Castiel hesitates. “The ache.”

Rowena looks far too knowing for Castiel’s liking. “Oh, dearie, I gave up attachments long ago. You would know better than me.”

“But you were human,” Castiel insists. “You must have lov— _needed_ someone once? What about Oskar?”

“Oskar was enchanting. Innocent and kind. I loved him, yes, but not . . . not as a parent would. And besides, losing him from my life was the last time I allowed myself to get close to someone in that way. It only leads to pain, Castiel.”

Castiel finds the patterns in the table’s woodgrain suddenly fascinating.

“In the end,” Rowena says, “it’s better to let it go.”

Down the hallway, Dean is dreaming. Castiel can tell because the faint pull that’s always there dims a little when Dean slips into a dream.

“I’ll pass that along to Jack,” Castiel says. Rowena looks surprised.

“Oh, yes, right. _Jack_.”

There’s an uneasy peace, but Castiel doesn’t trust it. Nothing comes without a price.


	5. 14x16 Coda

Dean rubs his hands along Baby’s steering wheel as he maneuvers her _back_ out of the Bunker’s garage.

“‘ _They’re all fake_ ,’” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Crazy kid.”

He’s nearly into town when his phone buzzes at him from his back pocket. It takes a little maneuvering, but he manages to grab it while at one of the only two stoplights between the Bunker and the convenience store. He swipes the screen to answer Cas’s incoming call.

“Hey, Cas, how’s all that fresh air and open space?”

“Hello, Dean. How is Jack?”

“Well, I’m just fine, Cas, how are you?”

Dean can practically hear the eye roll on the other end of the phone, and maybe he smiles. Just a little. “Thank you, I’m fine. It’s Jack we should be concerned about—”

“I know, I know. Look, I dunno what to tell you. He’s _fine_ , really. Left him home alone for a day and a half while Sam and me went on a hunt, and everything’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. He was safe and sound when we got home, nothing weird.”

Cas makes a contemplative sound, but is otherwise quiet. Dean pulls into the small parking lot next to the row of buildings containing the local store. He should probably hang up now; they said everything there is to say, and Dean needs to get out of the car before he draws attention to himself. Instead, they sit there in silence for a moment, Dean picking at a loose thread in the stitching of Baby’s front seat. Melancholy settles over him like it does when he’s alone sometimes.

“Missed you this morning,” Dean whispers into the phone. He hadn’t meant to, it just kinda slipped out. Cas’s lack of response kicks up his anxiety. “I mean, just, y’know . . . yesterday, it was nice, and then today . . .”

“I missed you, too, Dean. I _do_ miss you.”

Dean’s throat catches on the thing he really wants to ask next, so he clears his throat instead. “You just wanna watch me sleep. Like a creeper.” There’s that audible eye roll again, and this time Dean really does grin.

“I’ll be home before you know it,” Cas says, and Dean’s heart swells in his chest. _Home_.

“Yeah, okay, you big sap. Listen, don’t worry about the kid. Me’n Sam, we got this. You just, uh. You come home when you’re ready.”

“There will never be a time when I wouldn’t rather be home with you.”

Dean’s smile hurts his cheeks, a blush creeping up that he’s really glad no one’s there to witness. “That’s, uh . . . you know, um. Same.”

“I know.” There’s a smile in Cas’s voice. “Thank you, Dean. I’ll call you again soon.”

“Later, Cas.”

He stares at the phone in his hand for a little while after, grinning like a fool. Cas might need to “stretch his legs” but he’d be home again soon, for more mornings waking up with Dean’s head pillowed against his chest.

He climbs out of the car and shoves his phone in his pocket when a sharp gasp startles him. He makes eye contact with a dark-haired teenage girl who looks vaguely familiar, frozen as she’s exiting the store. She stares at him like a deer caught in the headlights until he says, “What are you looking at?” and she darts off.

He shakes his head, entering the store. _Teenagers_.


	6. 14x18 Coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER!!!!  
> Canon-compliant minor character death

It might be vaguely blasphemous, but it isn’t an exaggeration to say that Castiel knows every hair on Dean Winchester’s head.

He carefully put them all back in place after he raised him from Hell, after all.

He knows every freckle, every eyelash, every scar and every blemish on his skin.

On a normal day, this knowledge doesn’t really matter. It isn’t significant to the universe just how abnormally long Dean’s eyelashes are, or how many freckles are dusted across his nose and cheeks. They’re just facts that are part of the catalog of Dean’s being.

Some mornings, though, Castiel is lucky enough to catch the faint shimmer of emerging gray hairs in Dean’s stubble while Dean sleeps next to him in their bed.

“Wh’ time isit?” Dean asked blearily on one of those mornings.

“Early,” Castiel murmured. Dean sighed and turned in Castiel’s arms, nuzzling deeper into the angel’s embrace.

“Why’m I up, then?”

“I didn’t want to wake you, but I’ll be leaving soon.”

Dean stiffened, and Castiel wished he hadn’t said anything at all. “Right,” Dean said, voice tight.

“I’ll be back,” Castiel promised. Dean shrugged, pushing himself back, pulling away from Castiel.

“Sure,” Dean had said carelessly, and by the time Castiel caught up to his mood, Dean had already rolled away and climbed out of bed. He’d dressed quickly, and they’d exchanged some quick, terse words before Castiel left to meet Anael on his failed mission to contact Chuck.

Now, he wishes he could go back. Take back the time wasted, the days apart, and pulled Dean back into bed with him and pressed kisses all over. A kiss for every freckle, hands buried in his hair, breathless and eager but unhurried.

There’s a gulf between them standing beside Mary’s pyre that hasn’t existed in years.

Sam’s hand is still on his shoulder, stopping him. His heart aches with the loss, with the _guilt_ and all he can think is that he needs to go to Dean, to make this right.

“Sam—” he begins instead, but it comes out broken and then suddenly he’s wrapped in a fierce hug, Sam’s arms tight around him.

“It’s not your fault,” Sam says. Castiel brings his hands up to return the hug. Sam’s wrong, but it’s a nice sentiment.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” he manages while Sam, it seems, is trying to squeeze the breath out of him.

“It’s not your fault,” Sam repeats, jostling Castiel slightly in his grip. Castiel nods once against his shoulder, which appears to be enough for Sam, who releases him. He makes eye contact when they pull back, patting his shoulder. After a moment, Sam sniffs hard against the tears in his eyes, rubs a hand over his nose and mouth, and walks away.

Dean’s still staring at the burning pyre, hands shoved deep into his pockets, but his eyes are dry. Castiel stands and watches him, blatant in his staring in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. At long last, as the flames burn down, Dean comes back to himself, taking a deep breath and a throat-clearing cough while he turns to follow Sam toward the car.

“Dean—” Castiel tries as Dean walks past him, and for a moment it looks like Dean’s going to ignore him before he turns around and strides to Cas and pulls him into his arms. They’re tight around him, tighter than Sam’s, and Castiel can actually _feel_ Dean holding himself together. “ _Dean_ ,” he breathes, holding him close.

Castiel knows Dean’s body even better than his own, has tracked its changes through the years, but even so it’s different when it’s pressed up against his so completely. It’s in the comfort of Dean’s embrace that the tears he’s been fighting finally fall.

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean whispers, voice thick with his own tears, and Castiel melts.

“I’m sorry, too,” he says quietly, cautiously. “I know you’ll miss her. So will I.”

They hold each other in silence for a few more breaths until Dean slowly pulls away. He’s still close enough that Castiel can see the tears caught in his lashes and count the freckles on his nose, his mouth set in a grim line. Part of Castiel, deep down, wishes he could kiss his frown away.

Dean must catch Castiel staring at his lips, because the corner of his mouth ticks up just slightly in the ghost of a smirk.

“C’mon, Cas,” he says. “Let’s go save the kid.”


End file.
